


Better Times To Die

by StationaryRat



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Alive Sal Fisher, Alternate Universe, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Ghost Hunters, Ghost Larry Johnson, Ghosts, How Do You Live With A Ghost Whos Also Really Hot, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, im sorry all the tags are so fucking morbid i promise theres a shit load of fluff in here, like on god there is fluff, taking some liberties with the plot, this is gonna get really gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-11-26 21:06:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18185732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StationaryRat/pseuds/StationaryRat
Summary: It had been inconspicuous at first: A colorful array of letters decorating the front of Sal’s fridge in his new apartment, spelling out an excited “Welcome home” in all capitals. It was a bit heavy on the red magnets, but overall didn’t draw Sal’s attention for more than a few moments when he first noticed it. He wrote it off as something Ash or Todd had done while helping him move his belongings into the studio apartment earlier that day, a friendly gesture to try and warm up the currently box-riddled space for Sal. It brought a smile to the boy’s scarred face, mumbling the words to himself in front of the fridge before putting away his leftover carry out dinner inside.It didn’t become a more pressing matter until the next day, when Sal rolled himself off of his lone mattress and headed to the kitchen at six that morning. He was greeted this time with a less enthusiastic, lowercase “Good morning” plastered across his fridge where the previous words had been.------Sal moves into a new apartment, and soon finds it's haunted.





	1. WELCOME HOME

**Author's Note:**

> WOW I actually can't believe I'm publishing something I've written, but here we are I guess! I remembered seeing a post a long time ago about someone being haunted by a ghost, but they could only communicate through the magnets on their fridge, so that's... Kind of the basis for this fic. It'll develop a lot, and I have a semi-solid plot concept already for the full thing! There's going to hopefully be at least 10 chapters to this fic, maybe more depending on how much I flesh things out. We'll see, I guess.  
> I admittedly haven't written any fanfiction since 2015, so please go gentle on my ass as far as feedback goes. (Lord knows I could use it though, so feel free to leave comments and critiques!) This first chapter was kind of half-beta'd, and it's currently real late for me so im sorry for blaring mistakes rip  
> Thanks for checking the fic out tho!

The door to the apartment closed softly, and the silence that followed draped over Sal like a weighted blanket. It was comfortable, relieving as he took a few steps backwards from the front door and deeper into the studio that he now called his home. While he loved Ash, she could be overbearing in her concern for Sal and his well-being, the pouty hassling that the shorter boy call her if he needed anything still echoing about in his head. His mask dropped off of his face as Sal sighed in relief, the chilled air of the room washing over scar tissue and bringing its own form of comfort with it as he removed his prosthetic. 

 

It had been a long day, to say the least. 

 

It was nearing one in the morning now, and Ashley had only just left. If Sal listened hard enough, he could hear the revving of her motorcycle as she peeled off down the city streets, back towards Nockfell like the rest of his friends. They had insisted on helping him move, something Sally had been thankful for. While Todd and Neil had taken their leave at around seven that evening, Ash’s worry took the shape of her hovering well past even Sal could stomach. As endearing as it was, Sal was happiest to have the apartment to himself to both relax and process the changes of the day. 

 

He missed the townhouse. He missed his bedroom, and the porch, and the work space that he and Todd had carved out of the shed in the backyard. He missed Nockfell already, despite the majority of his life being spent there and how insistent he was that he was tired of living somewhere so small. The weight of this hit him all at once as the silence of the apartment washed over him, conflicting with the content and peace that came with it. Nockfell had become home to Sal over the years, familiar and comfortable. Time wasn’t as forgiving though, and once Todd and Neil had gotten engaged, a silent sort of tension had risen up in their home whether the trio wanted it or not. 

 

Todd and Neil deserved their space, to make a home and a family for just themselves. Sal had often felt like a third wheel despite how hard the couple tried to avoid letting that happen, and some part of Sal had known that the peace he found in the town house just wouldn’t last. So, as summer was reaching a peak, Sal Fisher decided to find his own little haven somewhere else. It was high time he be more independent anyways, and as he rapidly approached his twenty-fourth birthday, it felt more necessary than ever that he learn to live completely on his own. 

 

The studio apartment was quaint, and a little run down, but it was more than enough for Sal in his opinion. One room, a closet of a bathroom and a wall nearly made of windows that gave a perfect view of the sunrise, or so he had been told. The hardwood floors creaked and the ceilings were water stained. To top it all off, there was an unsettling, lingering sensation of being watched resonating throughout the small space, but all-in-all the apartment was enough for Sal. The complex itself was on the edge of the city, not too far from downtown while still being a reasonable distance from Nockfell. Visiting distance, he had told his friends to try and ease their stress about him moving away. 

 

As Sal paced through the one room apartment, passing stacks of boxes and bags of belongings, he let out a deep yawn. As excited as he was to move into his new home, the strain of getting the boxes and furniture up to the fourth floor had drained him entirely. He stretched as he unceremoniously  shoved the nearly empty pizza box into an equally as vacant fridge, not caring much for its interior at the moment. He would tackle the fridge tomorrow along with the rest of his things, Sal decided as he shut the fridge door. He paused, however, at the sight of vibrant color against the cold metal. 

 

Within the mess of colorful letter magnets haphazardly stuck to the front of the fridge (something Ash had insisted on giving Sal upon moving: five sets of letters and numbers, to be exact) was a nauseatingly colorful greeting of “Welcome home” in all capital letters. It caught Sal off guard, but he grinned down at the phrase all the same, echoing it back to himself as he took everything in. 

 

“Welcome home,” he breathed out, closing his eyes for a moment. He was home. This was his home now. A huge step towards the future, towards independence, towards himself. Something to be proud of, and something to celebrate. 

 

Sal gave the shell of the fridge a final, gentle pat next to the greeting, something he would probably tease Ash about given she was the most likely to have done something as dorky in the first place, before he padded the few feet across his apartment to the mattress that lay bare under the tall windows on the far wall. Prosthetic discarded next to his pillow and clothes in a heap on the floor next to him, Sal settled under a worn blanket and stared out the windows at the night sky. Tomorrow was a new day in a new life, and while it wasn’t as monumental or impactful to Sal now, he felt that it would be good when the weight of the change fully sank into him. It would take a while for him to adjust to the new space, to stop the disorientation of waking up somewhere that wasn’t the townhouse, but he would get there, and he would welcome it when it did. 

 

He was asleep within five minutes, and for the first time in a long time, he dreamed of nothing but a listless, warm darkness and the nostalgic scent of summer. 

 

________________________________________________

  
  


It was far too early to be waking up in Sal’s honest opinion, but the sunlight filtering through the windows of the boys new apartment had another idea it seemed. The listing was correct in its initial statement: The windows DID give a wonderful view of the sunrise. Sadly, the wonderful view of the sunrise decided to shine down directly into Sal’s poor, unsuspecting eye.  Sally groaned softly, voice rough and throat dry, as he threw an arm over his face in an attempt to block the light. A dull ache resonated from within Sal’s skull, paired with an almost sticky sensation just behind his right eye. He curses himself when he realizes he never took his eye out before bed last night, and it’s the discomfort and need to clean it out that ultimately drags him out from under his blankets and towards the bathroom to clean himself up a bit, prosthetic face still discarded on his bed.  

 

There was a new level comfort and freedom found in having his own apartment, and Sal was finding he enjoyed it even more than he thought he would. He didn’t have to wear his prosthetic if he left his room anymore, or pants for that matter, even if that was just because his entire apartment was his room and it was all Sal’s now. It felt weird to go without his face, it had become a part of him at this point, but it was also exhilarating at the same time. Sal’s father, however much he would insist that Sal could go without it at home, had always cringed or looked away when he saw his son without his mask on. Sal would also never dream of going without his prosthetic while living with Neil and Todd in the townhouse. Throughout his life, it simply became a habit that Sal never go without his mask unless absolutely necessary. It was a part of him; A large facet of his identity, so much so that Sal felt something was missing if he went without it for too long. 

 

Sal was finding he quite liked the change of pace though, as he shuffled the few feet into the small bathroom in nothing but his briefs and a pair of mismatched socks. It takes a few moments of rifling through a cardboard box labeled “BATHROOM” to find his toiletries, but within fifteen minutes Sal has washed his face, left his glass eye to soak and clean itself in a glass of water, and brushed both his teeth and his hair, though the latter still remains a bit of a tangled mess despite Sal’s best efforts. 

 

Admittedly, Sal was rushing. He wasn’t sure if it was the new space or something else, but the insistent feeling of eyes watching him as he moved about the apartment still lingered from the night before. It made him antsy. It put Sal on edge. The cramped nature of the bathroom definitely wasn’t helping the matter either, and so Sal tried to get through his morning routine as quickly as possible. He could air out the apartment once he started to unpack; Air out the watchful feeling on the back of his neck as well. 

 

Once he had deemed his attempts at cleaning up good enough, Sal gave another stretch and finally exited the bathroom. With a quick stop by his mattress to grab his prosthetic and clip it on, as well as fully throwing open the blinds and windows, Sal headed for the kitchen to scavenge for breakfast. He’d still have to go to the grocery store, probably today if he wanted to have a real dinner. For now though, the remains of the pizza from last night were calling Sal’s name. 

 

Before he can eagerly dive into his food, however, Sal’s fridge door catches his eye. He pauses, blinking down at the new words sprawled messily across the door, trying to comprehend the sudden change. “ _Good morning,_ ” it says, in lowercase magnets now. Sal squints his good eye down at the words, confusion evident on his face.   
  
“Didn’t that… Say “ _Welcome home_ ” last night?” He mumbles to himself, what remains of his eyebrows knotted together under his mask as he reads over the greeting a few more times. He didn’t make that up last night, did he? He knew for a fact Ash or Todd hadn’t snuck into his apartment thi morning, they didn’t have keys and Sal was so sure he locked the door anyways… 

 

“Weird,” he breathed out, before he went to open the fridge regardless. Maybe he was dreaming, Sal mused around a yawn. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a dream that began mundane, like waking up in his own home, or getting ready to go to school or work. It was just a matter of time before they melted into inconsistent, incomprehensible nightmares. He idly pinched at his side as he rifled through what little food he had in the fridge, giving out a soft hiss and a wince when he dug his nails in a bit too hard. 

 

So maybe it isn’t a dream, if the sting in his side was anything to go by. Sal reluctantly considers this as an option as he withdraws the mostly empty pizza box from the fridge. “I’m probably just imagining things,” he tells himself as he closes the door, though he eats his words when he stares at the magnets on the fridge once more.

 

“ _ Pizza 4 breakfast? Rly? _ ” Is what stares back at him, and Sal can only seem to stand and stare down at the words as he tries to comprehend what was happening. 

 

Is his fridge talking to him? That… Didn’t make a lot of sense, but Sal supposed weirder things could happen. Was his fridge haunted? Was that it? And now the ghost had decided to critique his breakfast choices, it seemed. A roll of irritation runs through Sal at that realization, a mildly insulted look on his face. 

 

“What’s wrong with pizza for breakfast?” He grumbles down at the fridge, waiting for a response. Nothing changes for a few moments, and Sal gives out a soft huff in response as he goes to settle on the floor in front of the fridge. A snarky ghost was… Definitely a new addition to Sal’s life, but it could be worse. It could be an asshole ghost, that broke his things or tried to scare him. Sal was pretty sure he could handle a bit of sass. 

 

“Cold pizza is the breakfast of champions, fuck you very much. Who are you to judge my breakfast choices anyways?” Unclipping the lower half of his mask, Sal opens up the pizza box and takes a large bite out of the first slice he can get his hands on to prove his point, all while staring down the letters on the fridge with a new-found dedication. 

 

Sal nearly chokes on his pizza when the letters slowly, awkwardly start to move around the front of the fridge. It’s a slow process, but eventually “ _ I’m Larry _ ” is spelled out on the front of his fridge. So his fridge was named Larry. Sal supposes there could be worse names out there for a fridge. 

 

“Well then, Larry, why are you haunting my fridge?” Sal asks, a bit more honestly this time. He slouches his chin into his palm as he stares up at the fridge, curious as he slowly eats his food. 

 

“ _ Not the fridge. _ ” 

 

“Not the fridge? So, like… The apartment?” 

 

“ _ Yea. _ ” 

 

Huh. So his apartment is haunted by a ghost named Larry. 

 

“Did you like, die here then? Is that insensitive?” That felt kind of insensitive, but Sal was curious, and it was his apartment now. When the most he gets out of response is another “ _ Yea, _ ” Sal decides it’s best to not touch on that subject again. 

 

“Well Larry, I’m Sal,” He says, discarding the crust of his pizza back into the box before diving for another one. 

 

“ _ Dude, eat ur crusts, _ ” The fridge reads when Sal glances back up once more. His face twists up before Sal can take the first bite of his next slice, pouting under his mask. 

 

“Eat my ass,” he sasses back. 

 

“ _ Take me 2 dinner first. _ ” Sal can’t help his laugh at Larry’s reply, shaking his head a bit as he chuckles around his food. 

 

“We’ll see. For now, Larry, you want to help me unpack a bit? Can you like… Interact with stuff enough to do that? I won’t have any freeloader ghosts in my apartment if I can help it,” Sal teases as he grabs his pizza box and finally stands from the floor. He stretches while he waits for Larry to finish shuffling the magnets about on the fridge. 

 

“ _ Kind of. I’ll try. _ ” There’s a pause in which Sal nods and moves to stand, before the letters start to shuffle about once more. The shorter boy watches curiously, a soft laugh leaving his chest as he watches “ _ I was here b4 u, 2 _ ” form on the front of his fridge. Sal can almost  _ feel  _ the pouting coming from his new housemate even without seeing him. 

 

“I’m still paying rent though,” Sal snarks back, tossing the remaining pizza back into the fridge before he stares at the clutter of boxes taking up space in his kitchen. Sal definitely had his work cut out for him, even if he had a ghost to help him. He’s pretty sure the entire process would start with him putting on a bit more clothing though. 

 

The pair settled into an easy, quiet rhythm after Sal redressed, with Larry opening the moving boxes and laying the contents out on the counters or floor while Sal tackled sorting through it all and putting it where it belonged. The kitchen was an easy place to start, between already being there and it having only three medium sized boxes to go through. After a few hours of work the bulk of the boxes had been emptied, and all the dishes had been put away with only one mug as a casualty. 

 

“ _ Ill fix it _ ,” the fridge had read moments after the mug shattered against the floor. The air felt almost static with electricity, but Sal brushed off the remark, stooping to pick up the broken pieces with little more than a shrug towards the loss of the cup. 

 

“It’s not that big of a deal, I have loads of mugs,” he reasoned back, dumping the ceramic shards into a nearby empty box while the fizzing nervousness of the room slowly faded. He brushed his hands off after that, giving a stiff stretch and a pained groan as he looked over the kitchen. It was… Quaint. He didn’t have much stuff to begin with, but he’s pleased with their progress so far. The cupboards were kind of full. A somewhat sad looking plant sat on the window sill, next to the cheap table and chair set Sal had bought at Walmart now lived. A keurig lived in the corner of the counter next to the toaster and the microwave, all crammed up against the fridge. It felt a bit more like home, with his own belongings strewn across the surfaces. 

 

“Wanna help me set up the TV and then watch some shitty movies together?” Sal questions in a lazy tone, throwing a sidelong glance towards the fridge. The “ _ fuck yea _ ” that appears across the door is by far the fastest response Sal had gotten that day. 

 

That’s how they spent the rest of the day. While setting up the TV had been more of a debacle than Sal would have preferred, between Larry trying to mount the thing to the wall and Sal not being the most skilled when it came to cords, they managed just fine in the end. By late afternoon, Sal was curled up under a heap of blankets on his mattress and staring intently at the movie currently playing on the screen across from him. A feast of cheap Chinese takeout is spread across the floor in front of Sal, slowly being picked over as the hours pass. It was casual, and comfortable, and almost nostalgic. Sal vaguely felt like he had experienced all of this before, and the sense of deja vu had weirded the boy out a bit. 

 

The weirdest thing to Sal, however, was the subtle weight of a body sitting close to his own. While Sal couldn’t see Larry, he could _ sense _ him there beside him. In the dip of the mattress, in the sudden chill across his skin if he leaned a bit too far to the side, in the quiet rustling of the sheets when Sal could swear he hadn’t move an inch. It was as unsettling as it was comforting. He didn’t feel nearly as alone as he anticipated he would in his new home, and it was making the transition a lot easier for Sal. 

 

“Oh yeah, I found you...” Sal says, voice trailing out as he remembered something from earlier in the day. He shifts on the bed, arching to reach for something near his pillows after pausing the movie. He sits back up only a moment later with an old spiral bound journal and a cheap pen in his hands, a nervous exclamation of “This!” following. He offers it up to the space he assumes Larry is taking up. ( _ From the immediate, icy chill that shoots through Sal’s veins, he can only assume he shoved the journal, as well as his hands, straight through Larry’s chest on accident. _ ) 

 

He sits and waits- admittedly stupidly- for a response from the other man before he sputters out a bit more of an explanation. 

 

“I-it’s for you to write in! I thought… It might be easier, than just the fridge?” There’s a pause filled with nervous laughter before, finally, Larry acknowledges the gesture. Relief washes through Sal when he feels a pressure pulling the pen and journal from his hands, and he watches it shift through the air as if floating. The pages flutter as the journal is opened, Larry flipping through them to find that it’s entirely empty save a sloppy scrawl of “Sally Face” on the back of the cover. 

 

“ _ Sally face? _ ” Is the first thing Larry decides to write in the journal, and it only draws more laughter out of the blue haired boy. 

 

“It’s… What my friends called me in highschool, because of the prosthetic,” he elaborates with a vague gesture towards his face. 

 

“ _ Some friends. _ ” Larry responds. 

 

“Yeah… I guess they weren’t great, but I thought if I owned the name then no one could use it against me.” Sal gives a shrug at that, a hand reaching up to fuss with a loose thread on his blanket. The journal bobs slightly, as if Larry is nodding in agreement. 

 

“ _ That’s pretty metal, Sally Face. I like your face. _ ” That brings a smile to Sal’s face, and he finds he’s relieved that Larry isn’t pressing matters like _ why _ he wears a mask, or what might be under it. That was a story for another time. 

 

“ _ Thanks for the journal, _ ” is the next thing Larry scrawls, his handwriting scratchy and a bit rushed. He hangs the journal in front of Sal’s face, like he’s a bit over eager for the other boy to read what he has to say. It makes Sal giggle, grinning as he turns to look in Larry’s general direction once more. 

 

“Yeah, dude. I figured it was easier,” he hums in response as he stares vacantly out towards his kitchen table. A question pops into Sally’s mind as he watches, trying to find something to discern Larry’s shape in the setting afternoon sun. 

 

“Can you not, like… Appear?” Sal questions awkwardly. He wasn’t… Quite sure how to word it, but he’s curious. Ghostbusters had only taught him so much about spirits, and his now ex-roommate Todd had only taught him so much more. It was never something either of them got that invested in, beyond stalking about abandoned lots and burned down houses late at night in their teens. The most Sal can recall his friend saying was that some spirits could appear, some couldn’t, and sometimes they needed a little help manifesting. 

 

There’s the sound of rushed writing before Sal once again has the journal shoved in his face. 

 

“ _ Not anymore. I used to, but over time I stopped being able to. _ ” The journal is tugged back, and there’s more writing. “ _ I can’t leave the apartment either. :( _ “ Sal can barely stifle the amused snort at Larry going so far as to draw out the frowning face in the journal. It was…  _ Cute _ . Still though, Sal had never heard anything about a spirit just… Not being able to manifest anymore. 

 

“That’s… Weird, you just stopped being able to?” he mumbles, frowning behind his mask as he thinks over those words. Maybe Todd could help. Sal makes a mental note to text him tomorrow about what’s going on and see what he can do. “I’m sorry, Larry. ” 

 

“ _ It’s fine _ ,” is the reply, though Larry seems to hesitate on writing more, air crackling with nervous static energy once more. Ultimately, it seems his desire to speak wins out over the nervousness as he continues to write. “ _ It was like something sucked up a lot of my energy. _ ” 

 

That was concerning. Sal hums in thought, turning to stare down at his lap as he considers Larry’s words. Sucked up his energy? He definitely had to talk to Todd now. The building was old, so maybe Larry wasn’t the only spirit here? 

 

“We’ll figure it out. I got a friend that might be able to help, actually,” Sal says, smiling towards the journal. Sal is startled to see a well rendered thumbs up as the next response, accompanied by a small “ _ Thanks Sally Face _ ”. It’s returned with a snicker, a matching thumbs up from Sal, and a quiet hum of “No problem, Larry Face.” 

 

The conversation for the night dwindled down after that. Sal resumes the movie and picking over his food, while Larry is a comfortable (if not cold) presence at his side. They still chat occasionally, Larry or Sal commenting on the movie or cracking a joke, but it otherwise is quiet between the two. The later it got, the more Sal found his mind wandering. He was thankful that he had moved, that he had met Larry. Sure, the dynamic was a bit off, and having a ghost roommate wasn’t how Sally had anticipated starting this new journey in his life, but he was more than glad to have someone by his side for it now. From what he’d gathered from Larry, the ghost seemed more than happy to have some company as well. 

 

By the time 4am had rolled around, Sal has managed to fall asleep sitting up and surrounded by half-eaten take out. The sight makes Larry laugh, barely audible in the space of the apartment as he takes in his new friend and his sleeping habits. It couldn’t be comfortable, but it was a testament to just how tired Sal must have been at that point. 

 

Sal is a lot lighter than Larry had anticipated he would be, despite Larry’s having seen just how thin he is. He’s gentle as ever as he lays the other boy down on his mattress though, tucking his blankets around his frame before the ghost goes to put the leftover Chinese in the fridge. There was no use in letting it go to waste, and Sal had helped him out a lot that day. The companionship and the conversation was more than enough, but go so far as to try and help Larry manifest…? The ghost could swear he felt the whisper of a flustered beat coming from his still, dead heart at the thought of someone going so out of their way for him. 

 

Returning from the kitchen, food put away for the next day, the final thing Larry does before settling in at the foot of Sal’s bed with his journal and pen in hand is pull up Bob Ross on the television. The volume had been turned down, the artist’s voice soft as it echoed throughout the room. It left Larry feeling nostalgic and content as he relaxed, a smile on his face. 

 

For once, he’s glad to see someone new move into apartment 402. 


	2. ALWAYS AND NEVER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Todd is called in for help, and hobbies are exchanged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll start this off with an apology for any sporadic update schedules that may happen in the future. I'm pretty bad with consistency, and I cannot promise this fic will be updated as often as it has been so far, BUT REGARDLESS thank you to everyone who left feedback! It's been really fun so far to work on this fic, and I'm enjoying it a lot more than I thought I would! 
> 
> I'm not as pleased with this chapter, but after writing 10 pages I can't bring myself to redo it. I took some small liberties with music tastes in this chapter, because I'm a self indulgent bitch. Writing Todd was harder than I thought it would be though. This is mostly fluff and bonding, so have a Grand Ol' Gay Time with it y'all. Ratty loves ya. Enjoy it.

“So… What you’re saying is, your apartment is haunted by a ghost-”

“Yes.”

“Who can only talk to you through… The magnets on your fridge?”

“A-and a journal I gave him,” Sal corrects, huffing a bit.

“And he says that he can’t leave the apartment because… Something is sucking up his energy?” Todd’s voice rattles through Sal’s phone, tinny and a bit confused, as the other boy paces about the apartment with fingers twisted in his pigtails. He’s been explaining things to Todd for nearly forty-five minutes now, and the longer the process drew on without a definite answer to whether or not the red haired boy could help, the more anxious Sal got.

“Yes! That’s exactly what I’m saying. He can’t leave the apartment anymore, but he used to be able to, like… What, 10 years ago?” He glances over to where Larry is perched on the edge of the mattress, the floating journal the only real indicator of where he resided in the room. The pages flutter as the ghost seeks out his thumbs up drawing, flashing it at Sal as a silent answer to his question.

The pair had worked out an easy rhythm over the past day and a half. Larry helped Sal unpack the majority of his belongings, and if Larry needed to say anything Sal had no problems with the other boy simply shoving the journal in his face. Sometimes Larry would reuse old messages or doodles, and sometimes he would jot down paragraphs worth of writing. Over all, the ghost seemed wholly attached to the journal, and Sal couldn’t help but find it endearing. It was a bit startling at first to just see objects floating about the studio, but Sal was adjusting. He was thankful for the journal, really, because Larry never seemed to put it down and Sal would be worlds more anxious about where the ghost was at any given minute otherwise. It was uncomfortable to know someone was there but not know _where_.

“Well, what I can tell you now is that something else is most likely involved. I’ve never heard of something just losing its ability to manifest or travel without some kind of outside force involved. Warding or otherwise, something else is mixed up in this,” Todd said after a long pause in the conversation.

“Well yeah, that makes sense, but can you help him?” Sal throws back, forcing down an exasperated sigh as he does. Larry seems to pause in anticipation of an answer, the pen and journal frozen in the air.

“I’ll have to come over and check it out for myself, but I’ll definitely try and help.” A collective sigh of relief rings through both the apartment and the phone receiver at that, and Sal swears he could hear an echo to his own breath in the quiet space between himself and Larry.

“Thank you, Todd… When do you think you’ll make it over?”

“Is tomorrow okay? Can it wait until then? The ghost isn’t… Y’know…”

Sal laughs softly, shaking his head. “Larry is fine, don’t worry about him. He’s actually been real helpful. Tomorrow is also fine, I have the whole day open.”

“Alright, Sal, I’ll stop by sometime in the early afternoon then. Don’t get possessed,” Todd teases. Sal scoffs, shaking his head as he bids goodbye to his friend before hanging up. His phone is tossed onto the bed, Sal following after it as he flops into the blankets. It’s still and quiet in the apartment for a few moments, before something smacks into the back of Sal’s head.

He jerks rather violently, letting out a startled yelp. It didn’t hurt, but it still caught him off guard. Sally extracts his face from the duvet, squinting through the eye holes of his mask at the journal that now lays open on the bed next to his head. Sal can only assume it was Larry’s attempt at getting his attention that startled him. He barely catches sight of what looks like a very well-drawn Sal, sleeping in a nest of thick blankets, before the pages flutter and the journal is ripped away from the boy’s line of sight.

“H-hey, Lar, wait-” Sal says, shuffling to try and reach for the journal. He shifts onto his knees on the mattress as the journal floats above Sal’s head, Larry moving to hold it out of the shorter boy’s reach. Sally refuses to give up though, a determined look in his eye as he moves to stand.

Arms outstretched towards the notebook, standing fully on the bed now, Sal can feel the gentle yet cold pressure of a hand on the top of his head as he makes futile attempts to get the journal back.

“Larry! C’mon,” He laments, struggling against the invisible weight holding him back. “I want to see! It looked really well done! God, how fucking tall are you?” Sal hisses out, though his words are laced with barely restrained laughter as he blindly swings his arms upwards. The journal is nearly on the ceiling and Sal has half a mind to think Larry is floating in order to keep it out of reach. The pressure only relents when Sal’s arms drop, folding against his chest as he glares up at the journal.

It only takes a few moments of Sal pouting before the journal is lowered back down, and Larry begins to hastily write in it.

“ _It’s embarrassing. I haven’t drawn in forever._ ” The journal reads. Sal continues to pout as he stares between the words and where he assumes Larry’s face is, arm still crossed over his chest.

“I don’t care, it looked good! Better than I could ever do. Please, Larry?” Sal hums, trying to reason and beg Larry into sharing. It takes a few moments before the pages begin to turn, and the notebook is offered up to Sal. All in all, it was easier to convince him than Sal thought it would be.

What Sal is met with is a multitude of pages of art. Nearly half the journal is just pages filled to the margins in sketches. A good deal of the drawings are of Sal, doing a variety of mundane things; Sleeping, eating (albeit awkwardly and under his mask), sitting on the floor sorting through moving boxes, reading on the cheap futon, watching movies. Mixed in are the occasional still-lifes of various things in the apartment. The lighting is dynamic and striking, and while the lines are scratchy and unforgiving in blue ink, Sal is in awe of what he sees.

“Larry, these… These are incredible,” He breathes out while flipping through the pages, voice hardly above a whisper. Sal feels overwhelmed by it, the attention to detail and the way that Larry portrays him. Slender. Graceful. Mysterious. _Attractive_ , Sal’s mind supplies to the dismay of his embarrassment and the blush visibly seeping down below the collar of his shirt.

He stops on the most recent drawing, something that takes up an entire page. The drawing he had seen just moments before, when the journal had been knocked aside in Sal’s surprise. He’s sleeping, mask slightly askew and half buried in the blankets pulled up to the boy’s ears. The lighting is harsh, shining vibrantly through the wall of windows next to Sal’s bed. Larry had procured a highlighter at some point, no doubt while they had been unpacking, because the sunshine is accented by the neon yellow. It looks almost photo-realistic despite the colors, and Sal finds himself painfully flustered.

“I’m keeping this,” he states, eyes not moving from the drawing. “This is incredible, I-I…” A gentle pressure tugging at the journal leads to Sal releasing the pages, letting Larry take the notebook back to write in it.

“ _I’m sorry if it’s creepy,_ ” Sal reads, before more words form. He can feel the cold pressure of Larry sitting close to his side. “ _You’re a good model. You can have them all, if you want.”_

“Good, I was planning on keeping them regardless,” Sally jokes, trying to lighten the situation. Sal can almost taste the embarrassment on Larry, the air heavy and electric with it. Nearly suffocating. “Did… Were you an artist? When you were alive?”

“ _Yeah. I painted a lot, and I was in art school._ ” Sal nods, about to comment on that, before Larry continues to write. “ _I think a lot of my paintings ended up in the lost and found in the basement, actually. No one came to get my things.”_ There’s a heavy silence that follows those last words, Sal’s heart twisting as he reads them. So Larry had been alone while he was alive? He’s curious, but doesn’t dare question the man on his past life.

“Lost and found?” Sal questions instead, eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t even know the building had one of those. “I can go down and get it now, why didn’t you say so sooner, dude? You live here too, just give me a second,” Sal says, jumping to his feet. Before he can get far though, the tension of fingers in his shirt stops him. He turns back towards the bed, staring down the dip in the blankets where Larry sits with a confused look.

“ _You need a key card to get there._ ” He elaborates after a few quiet moments.

“Okay, how do I get one?” Sal questions, head cocked to the side in curiosity.

“ _I would probably have to steal one. I think I know where they are, but you wouldn’t be able to get in without getting caught._ ” Sal frowns at that, sighing softly.

“I can be sneaky, y’know,” Sal huffs softly, mock offense in his voice before he settles back on the bed. “But alright, once you can, steal me a key card. I’ll get you your things back.” Sal holds a hand up, pinkie extended, and waits.

He waits for what feels like an eternity, before the feeling of a cold, long finger wraps around Sal’s own. He starts at the feeling, but twines his little finger with Larry’s regardless. It was a deal now, and he tells Larry as much with a soft laugh. Larry bounces their hand a few times, almost as if trying to convey a nod, before he lets go of Sal’s finger.

It’s quiet for a few moments after that. Sal draws his hand back, resting it in his lap as he turns to stare out the windows of his apartment. There’s a quaint street just outside, lined by short buildings and trees just barely starting to turn as the end of September approached. It was peaceful, and quiet just outside of the city. Comfortable. Familiar. Close enough to Nockfell without being identical, close enough to the city to feel new.

The rustling of pages draws Sal’s attention away from the window and back to Larry. He’s offering up the journal to the other boy, and Sal takes it without question.

“ _Since I showed you my art, you should play me something on your guitar._ ” There’s a small doodle of what looks like Sal playing his guitar, but what catches Sal’s eye is the accompanying doodle of a man with long hair doing what Sal can only guess is headbanging. No face can be made out, just the scribbled blur of long hair and the vague thrashing of limbs. It makes Sal cackle as he hands the journal back to Larry.

“Is that supposed to be you?” He questions, grinning behind his mask. A quick “ _Yes”_ jotted down answers Sal’s question. It hits Sal all at once that he has no clue what Larry actually looks like, and he can’t help but ask the question on his mind. “Is your hair really that long?”

Instead of a written answer, a spindly, cold hand slowly wraps around Sal’s wrist, drawing it up and up until it’s buried in what Sal can only assume is Larry’s hair. Once the shorter boy’s fingers have been thoroughly embedded in a somewhat tangled mass of hair, the grip on Sal’s wrist is released and he’s left to drag the digits through the locks.

It’s such a curious thing to Sal, that Larry feels so _solid_ if he wants to even when he can’t be seen. It catches Sal off guard every time he physically interacts with the other man. Sal had asked at some point, about how sometimes he would hit Larry like a brick wall, and other times he would sink right through his frame like he was nothing more than an icy breeze. Larry had said something about being able to manipulate his form enough to dictate whether he could phase through things, and in turn whether things could phase through himself. Something that got more difficult when he lost his ability to manifest. Larry had to go out of his way to make himself phase through things when he could manifest fully, but now things were the other way around.

Larry’s hair is worlds softer than Sal anticipated it would be. He combs his fingers through the taller man’s mane slowly, humming softly as he follows the strands all the way down to their ends. He’s surprised to find Larry’s hair ends just above the blankets of the bed.

“Wow,” Sal breathes out, eyes wide. “Your hair really IS long, Larry,” he mumbles, before his fingers reach back up to comb through his hair again. Sal doesn’t sound displeased in the slightest, though- If anything, it’s the opposite.

“You should draw yourself,” Sal hums as he reluctantly pulls his fingers away. “I want to know what you look like, Larry face.”

“ _Maybe_ ” is the most response Sal gets from the other, so he decides to drop the subject entirely. Instead, Sal stands and paces over to the guitar stand in the corner.

“Alright, fair is fair,” he sighs softly as he picks up the electric guitar and throws the strap over his shoulder. He plucks at the strings, tuning it idly for a few moments as he thinks over what he should play. If Larry drew himself headbanging, Sal can only assume the man likes harder music…

Sal flips on his amp, plugging the guitar into it and adjusting the volume before he starts to finger out the intro to his song of choice. Admittedly Sal is a bit rusty, but the tabs come back almost immediately as he plays the song. Older, nostalgic; One of the first songs he had learned. He sinks into the music easily, pacing slowly around the room as he closes his eyes and just _plays_. Faintly, he can hear the rustling of paper in the background as Larry frantically writes something down, but Sal pays it no mind. He would read it when he was done.

His voice is rough, deep as he sings the words. Nothing like the original singers voice, but Sal does his best. The song lulls and speeds up sporadically, his voice alternating between a hushed rasp and something more sturdy and prominent, the guitar matching. It shifts between subtle and calm, and harsh and loud. When Sal hits the chorus, his voice is warbling and scratchy as he howls over the thrum of the guitar.

“ _Dear god, I don't feel alive. When you're cut short of misery, will you pray it be the end?_

_Give a look of surprise, wide eyed to me. Then you'll know just what I am. The scare that triggers your fear; Come know me in a different light, now._

_Come know me as god._ ”

The song isn’t a long one, but it ends on a powerful, abrupt note. He’s breathing hard from singing as he lets go of his guitar, letting it hang against his heaving chest by the strap. There’s another frantic rustle of paper as Sal watches Larry write something so enthusiastically he actually manages to rip the page in the process.

“ _I LOVE THAT SONG,_ ” is one of the most coherent sentences on the page. Sal gently takes the journal as he looks over the chicken scratch, laughing softly. The most he’s able to get out of everything written down is that Larry definitely knew the song, and was very excited about it.

“One of the first songs I learned, nothing beats Coheed’s older music,” Sal hums before he hands the notebook back. He paces over to the bed, settling down on the edges as he idly plucks at the guitar strings, waiting for Larry’s response. It isn’t long before the journal is shoved eagerly into Sally’s field of vision.

“ _Are they still making music?_ ”

“Yeah, dude… They’ve released god knows how many albums since Second Stage Turbine Blade,” Sal hums, eyebrows furrowed. He guesses Larry didn’t have much of a way to get out and hear more music if he was stuck in the apartment for so long.

“ _I didn’t know they made anything past that album_ ,” Is Larry’s response. Sal hums in thought for a few moments before tugging his guitar close once more, fingers running over a few tabs before he speaks.

“I don’t know anything off of their newest album, but…”

It’s much softer this time, a polar opposite compared to the last song Sal played. Something that should have probably been played on an acoustic guitar, obvious in the awkward harshness to some chords, but it’s soft and beautiful all the same as Sal plays through the intro. Sal’s voice is no different as he sings, that same rasp from before returning.

“ _If beauty sits the child's kiss of laughter I amend, can you catch her if she runs? With this I would share with you, all of this count to no end. Behind your sealed eyes you miss all that I've done for you, will you catch me when I run? If timing plays evident, what would you say when you're late?_ ”

His eyes are closed, his body rocking slow with the rhythm of the song. It was nostalgic for him, calm and gentle. It reminded Sal of his mother, in some ways. Of his family. Of himself, though he wasn’t always sure why. His voice lilts as he continues to sing, fingers dancing over guitar strings with a practiced ease that only comes from years and years of playing. A second nature returned, something his body could never unlearn even if he tried.

“ _Stay with me and fall asleep, pray to God for no bad dreams. Here, I'm still waiting here, my dear, for one kiss from you. So here... I'm still waiting here, my dear, to kill all of you… To kill all of you._ ”

The song ends even more quickly than the last one, much more gently as well, and Sal gives a nervous glance towards the journal. It rests still in Larry’s lap, pen held against the page despite no new words having been written down. It’s quiet, and Sal is about to mumble out a flustered apology when the pen moves.

“ _That’s beautiful, Sal,”_ is the first thing to show up on the page. The question that follows catches Sal off-guard though, his eyes going wide behind his mask as he takes them in: “ _Can I draw you like this?”_

Sal flusters, visibly blushing as he stares down at the page. Draw him? Playing his guitar? He… Doesn’t see why not.

“Y-yeah, sure,” He says softly. “Do you, uh… Want something other than a shitty pen to draw with? I have, like, pencils somewhere,” Sally offers, swallowing as he goes to set the guitar aside on the bed and stand up. He doesn’t bother seeing Larry’s response, instead pacing about the apartment looking in drawers and boxes for supplies. He returns a few minutes later with his hands full, offering up a few different colored sharpies, a charcoal pencil (likely from Ashley) as well as a mechanical pencil, some nicer pens, a number of highlighters, and a pink eraser.

“I’ll get you nicer stuff next time I go out,” is the quiet mumble that follows Sal dumping his finds on the bed. He watches as Larry rifles through it all before he picks up the mechanical and charcoal pencils, and then goes back to writing in the journal.

“ _Thanks Sally face, just keep playing for me,”_ is all the paper says, Sal barely able to read it before Larry tugs the journal back into his lap and he begins to lightly scratch some shapes onto a clean page. Larry seems impatient and overeager, and Sal can’t say he blames him. Sally picks up his guitar, settling comfortably into the mattress before he begins to idly play through all the songs he can think of and then some.

 

\-------

The day continued on in a similar fashion; Sal idly played his guitar, while Larry took his time drawing and redrawing the other boy to his still hearts content. He managed to fill up a  number of journal pages with sketches of Sal; Of his hands on the guitar strings, of his mask, from different angles and in different lightings, with different mediums. He almost felt _alive_ again, getting to draw like this. He forgot how good it felt to create things. Even after Sal’s hand cramped too much and he had to put the guitar away for the night, even after he had dug into his leftover chinese food before passing out in his bed watching some cheesy horror movie, Larry kept drawing and sketching him.

Sal said he didn’t mind. His only condition was that he wanted to see what Larry drew, and that he got to keep some of it for himself.

“Not all of them,” he had jested with batted eyelashes, “So you’ll have somethin’ pretty to remember me by.”

The half-hearted punch to Sal’s shoulder had the smaller boy doubled over in laughter, and Larry hated that the aching-almost of a heartbeat was present in his chest again. God damn Sal Fisher for making him feel things, especially futile things like _affection._

Larry Johnson, dead-end artist and eternally twenty-two years old, has a crush on the man living in what used to be his apartment. He isn’t sure what to do about it either, so for the time being he’d decided to simply draw Sal until he runs out of paper.

He ran out around one in the morning, to his own disappointment. Larry had even drawn on the covers of the notebook, filling every single inch of space within the journal with art. Letting out a defeated sigh, he discarded it on the pillow next to Sal’s head for the boy to look through when he awoke, and stared out across the quiet apartment while considering what he could do at this point.

He couldn’t sleep. He’d lost his ability to once he had died, and it had been a lonely existence ever since. Larry isn’t sure what about Sal drove him to finally speak out, to interact like he had, but he’s grateful that he had.

It was lonely being dead. He had watched so many people move in and out of the studio apartment, watched so many stories play out over the years, watched so many people _live_ while he was stuck at twenty-two, stuck with his regrets, stuck with himself for the rest of his immortality. If Larry was being honest, he would say that being stuck with himself was enough to consider this hell.

Sal made it better, though. He was funny, sassy while still being gentle and attentive. He was mysterious and stoic while still managing to be expressive. He was an anomaly, an angel, something refreshing. Something achingly lovable. Damn near perfect in Larry’s eyes, from the sway of his pigtails when he talked to the way his slender fingers danced over the strings of his guitar with a skill that could rival a professional.

Larry’s fogged eyes drift towards the guitar, now resting against its stand on the far side of the apartment. It had been so long since he had played… Curious and nervous, he stands and makes his way over to the instrument, fingers running down the neck before Larry cautiously lifts it from its stand and slings the strap over his shoulder.

The first note is a bit sour, making the ghost cringe at the sound, but he recovers quickly. He’s rusty, more rusty than he’d anticipated as he slowly relearned how to play. He stuck to slower, softer tunes for now, something simple and sweet as he got the hang of it. Riddled with mistakes and restarts, it fills the stifling silence of the apartment.

It also wakes a certain someone, unbenounced to Larry. Sal peeks over the edge of the duvet, groggy and curious to see his guitar floating a solid four feet off the ground by his bathroom door. The tune is gentle and pleasant despite the slip ups, and while Sal doesn’t make his presence known, he grins under his mask as he listens to Larry play.

He didn’t know the ghost could play guitar, but he doesn’t dare ask about it, doesn’t dare interrupt the moment. Instead, Sal settles his head back into the pillow and listens for what feels like hours, until the guitar lulls him back to sleep.

 

\-------

Sal is startled awake by knocking, the sound jolting him out of his vacant sleep and leaving him blinking towards his front door. Knocking? He glances blearily around the apartment as he adjusts his mask, exhaustion still heavy on his eyelids and his thought process as he moves to stand.

“Yeah, I’m comin’!” He calls around a yawn when the knocking resumes. Sal shuffles out of bed and towards the door, clad in only a loose pair of sweatpants and a maroon muscle tank top, and is greeted by Todd when he peers through the peephole. He's quick to open the door after that, welcoming his friend inside.

“Todd! Hey, you’re-” a pause to glance at the clock on the stove range, followed by a grimace, “Here really early. Wow, dude, it’s like not even eight.”

“You seemed insistent I come as soon as I could to help,” Todd says with a shrug. “I also texted you several times. Not my fault you didn’t look at your phone,” The man hums as he paces into the apartment, glancing around the space curiously, both taking in the half-assembled interior as well as seeking out the apartments other occupant. The man of the hour though seems to be hiding, as there's little to no indication that Larry is anywhere in the apartment at all.

“So where is this “Larry” you speak so highly of?” Todd asks, glancing over his shoulder at Sal. The shorter man closes and locks the front door, giving a languid stretch as he makes his way towards the kitchen with a shrug. Maybe Larry was nervous about meeting Todd. He’d mentioned at some point since the pairs meeting that before Sal, Larry had never interacted with “one of the living” since he had died. Not intentionally, anyways. The electric weight in the air seemed to only further Sal's suspicion as he tried to seek out the ghost.

“Somewhere,” Is Sal’s comment, before there’s the sound of rustling paper coming from the foot of the bed. Without even looking, Sal jabs a finger in that general direction before ducking into the fridge, only to return with an energy drink in hand.

“Larry, meet Todd. Todd, Larry,” He introduces the two as he cracks the can open and takes a few solid gulps from it. “Todd is gonna help you… Somehow,” He finishes, glancing at the new notepad hovering just above the mattress. It looks like an old to-do list, the ones that you stick on your fridge, most likely scavenged from one of the moving boxes… Had Larry used up all the pages in the last journal already? Sal makes a mental note to get him a new one some time soon.

Todd is quiet as he paces over towards the notepad, curious and analytical as he always has been. There’s a few quiet moments of erasing, before Larry jots down a quick “ _Hello Todd,_ ” and flashes it up towards the man before him.

“Hi, Larry,” Todd returns, before sitting down next to Larry. “I’m gonna need for you to explain everything to me.”

And so he did. Sal sat at the kitchen table and watched the two quietly converse for well over an hour, notepad being passed back and fourth. Larry explained a whole slew of things Sal never knew; He died in 2002, and immediately after he had been able to easily manifest fully. While he avoided interacting with humans, since according to Larry he " _still looked very dead_ ", he would often interact with other spirits in the complex. It was almost like he was human again, but slowly over time it got harder and harder to do so until he simply found one day he wasn’t able to anymore.

Despite his avoidance of the living, Larry would visit some of other spirits in the apartment complex, but several he didn’t go so far as to befriend. “ _The apartment has a bit of a dark past,_ ” is all Larry said when pressed on the subject of other inhabitants in the building and what they were like. Something bad resided here, on the lower floors. Something hungry, and heavy. Something that was seeping up the energy from everything around it, Larry explained.The spirits he knew were also losing their ability to manifest, to interact with things, to travel from their death spots just like Larry. Whatever was happening was affecting more than just the ghost in apartment 402, and that had Todd concerned for more than just the spirit he was talking to.

“Alright, I think I have some ideas,” the redhead states after Larry seems to have shared all he can about the building and his own situation. Sal notices that Larry left out the details of his own demise, his own life, and it just leaves him curious. He doesn’t push, though; Instead, Sal paces over to where Todd sits on the bed and waits for the other man to continue.

“Firstly, I think I know how to make you manifest again,” he starts. “But, I think that we should also look into the building itself. I can’t promise what I try will be a permanent solution, especially if something is draining your energy. If we want to fix this for good, we have to address that problem.”

Sal nods along with what Todd says, shuffling to slump into the mattress. “I can research the building and its history,” he offers the other man. "Maybe that will give us some input into what's causing problems here." 

“Sounds good, Sally face. I’ll start tinkering with things and see what I can come up with. We need something that will restore Larry’s energy, I think I have some ideas on what I can do.” He moves to stand at that, letting out a low sigh as he slowly makes his way towards the door.

“I’ll  keep in touch and let you know when I have something to test.” When he gets a nod from Sal, Todd goes to open the front door with a wave. “It was nice meeting you, Larry,” are Todd’s parting words before he steps out of the apartment and quietly closes the door behind him, blanketing the apartment in a feeling of anticipation and hope.

“We’ll get it figured out, Lar,” Sal says softly, smiling over to the floating notepad as he swirls his energy drink in its can. “For now, though, let’s get you a new journal, yeah?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs featured in this chapter were Delirium Trigger and Always and Never by Coheed and Cambria! A small dedication to my boyfriend, since Coheed is his favorite band and also he's nearly IRL Larry Johnson. It just makes sense in my head that Larry would listen to them, even if they started making music around the time he died.
> 
> As always, please please feel free to leave comments and feedback! Seeing it really motivates and encourages me to write, and it's been a huge self esteem and motivation boost to see all of the positive feedback on this so far! I'm really excited to keep working on it!


	3. TALK TO ME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To wake up in a place I've never been  
> Wake up with a face I've never seen  
> Wake up with the purest sense of being  
> Yeah, to wake up to a woman that isn't screaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M GONNA SAY RIGHT NOW, I'M SORRY I DON'T RESPOND TO COMMENTS. I read every single one of them, and they all make me so happy I've literally cried. It always means the absolute world to me to see new comments on this, and to read what people have to say about this story. So a huge HUGE thank you to everyone who has commented, I promise I'll try and find the time to sit down and respond to them all.
> 
> I'm also sorry for any potential delays with updating this fic. I was very recently broken up with, and it's been pretty devastating for me to go through. This fic has been a little bit nauseating to think about because of that, but I'm gonna do my best to stick with it til the end! 
> 
> CONTENT WARNING; There are brief mentions of gore, as well as some minor self harm in this chapter. I meant for it to be longer, but because of happenstances with my week and just wanting to get this chapter over with I kinda cut it into two parts. SO I'm sorry this one is a bit shorter compared to the others. 
> 
> Anyways, I'll shut up and let y'all read. Enjoy, and remember Ratty loves ya!

It was warm. The world was bathed in gold, dripping and molten and so, so  _ warm _ . The grass was soft under hand and foot, as soft as the blankets splayed on the field, as soft as his mothers eyes on him as Sal dashed about the park giggling and laughing. He felt so happy, so light and free as he tumbled through the fields. His mother laughed along with him from the shade of a tree, nestled on a blanket and chiding him softly to be careful or he might get hurt. 

Hurt. The pain came on so suddenly as Sal tumbled once more through the grass. He meant to do a cartwheel, or a summersault, or  _ something _ , but instead of soft grass and fresh earth his body met pavement, met agony, met screaming. Everything smelled metallic, smelled wrong. The wail of an ambulance pierced through his ears so harshly he felt sick, so sick, so  _ warm _ . It dripped, it was molten, it clung to his clothes and matted his hair to his head. It was sticky, and copper, and- 

It was dark. The pain was present but dull. A softened buzz under his skin, like the sound of a thunderstorm miles and miles away, or the phone ringing next to the bed. Soft like the scratchy hospital linens, soft like the gauze on his face, soft like his footsteps as he pads through doors and down halls like a maze. Soft like his mother’s golden hair, her sallow skin where he found her lying in the morgue. She was ashy, stiff, vacant as she stared out at Sal from the stretcher. He watched her bloat, watched her ooze, watched her drip all molten to stain the sheets an earthy red. He watched her turn to dust, to ash, to a heap of gorey bones and broken teeth. 

“ _ It’s all your fault, _ ” her eyes say, glossy and fogged over and sinking so fast into her skull. “ _ It’s all your fault, _ ” says the blood on his hands, on her body, on the walls. It’s sticky and near black, caked in the creases of his hands, under his fingernails. “ _ It’s all your fault,” _ says his father’s voice, his mothers, his own; An entire symphony yells. A cacophony of blame, of rage, of sadness wailing at him like the wail of the sirens, like the wails leaving Sal’s own throat as he tries to both sing along and drown it out. 

“ _ I buried her alive kid, _ ” the words rasp from a rotted muzzle, and the rain that falls on Sal is the first cold thing he has felt in what seems like a lifetime. The world is silent except for the hollow voice coming from the canine before him, slowly seeping into the ground. Returning into the earth. Its fur, matted and soggy, seems to become one with the soft grass under it as it continues to speak, “ _ Go see for yourself. _ ” It rumbles, weakly gesturing behind Sal. 

The loose dirt is slimy under bare feet as Sal treds slowly, so slowly towards the gaping hole in the ground. A grave; For his mother, for himself. His feet wobble on the edge as he stares into the black, the end not in sight, an eternal fall into some unknown Sal doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to face. Sal tries to take a step back, tries to turn away, but the earth seems to follow after him like a rising tide. It shudders and crumbles at his heels, the grave yawning open to try and swallow the boy up. 

He feels the choked breath in his chest leave him all at once in a scream as the ground gives out under him, and Sal falls. 

\------

Larry Johnson had a problem, and it’s name was Sal Fisher. 

It had been a little under a week since the shorter boy had moved into apartment 402 of Addison Apartments, and already Larry was finding it impossible to  _ not _ fall irrationally fast for him. He tried to chalk it up to his being lonely, stuck in the apartment for years. He chalked it up to being attention starved, to having a type, to any number of things to try and help himself  _ not  _ be so infatuated with the first friend he’s made in over a decade. 

None of it made the clench in his guts go away. None of it stopped the boiling heat that rushed to his cheeks when Sal sat a bit closer than usual, or quietly played his guitar for the ghost. None of it stopped Larry from filling up two and a half journals with just drawings of the apartments occupant, partially because it made the boy smile so wide Larry could tell even with the mask, and partially because he was a damn good model.  

None of it made his current panic go away either, as he watched the shorter man struggle and whine in his sleep. 

Larry had noticed Sal was a bit more restless tonight, though he hadn’t paid it much mind. He was growing used to Sal’s ticks, his habits. He didn’t stay in one position when he slept normally, so he hadn’t considered that anything new or unusual might be happening. Not until now at least. It had started as a bit of fussing, turning more frequently than usual, the occasional mumble or hiss. Now, though? Now it was thrashing, it was gasping, it was damn near  _ screaming _ as Sal seemed to get in a heated fist fight with his duvet. 

Larry had tried to nudge him awake, prodding at his cheeks and his shoulder and his side, but it only seemed to drive Sal further into his fit. No matter how Larry tried, he couldn’t bring his voice up enough for Sal to hear either. He was having a nightmare, Larry decided. It was the only real explanation he could come to for  _ why _ he was so violent, and loud. 

In a fit of desperation, for a lack of things to do that didn’t involve getting a bit more hands on with Sal than he wanted, Larry resorts to the last option he felt he had. 

He starts slamming every single thing he can find in the house. 

If Sal was already going to be screaming, he figured it wouldn’t make much of a difference if he was noisy. Touching him seemed to only make things worse as well, so there was little else Larry could do. He rattled the blinds til they nearly fell off the walls, he slammed the cupboards and cabinets and bathroom door. Larry even plugged Sal’s guitar into its amp and strummed it at near full volume. The apartment seemed to shake in its entirety, the glass of the windows shuddering in their frames from the amount of mayhem Larry was managing to cause in his panic. It seemed to do the trick, thankfully, because Sal sat bolt upright as the sour chords Larry had struck rang through the apartment. It was followed by a silent pause, by a sudden intense calm in the wake of all the catastrophe. 

The sob that wracked Sal’s frame and broke the quiet hurt Larry more than anything in life or death had before. He had his journal in hand in an instant, and sat himself down next to the smaller boy as he hastily wrote to him. He kept the journal in view so Sal could watch the words appear on the page. 

“ _ It’s okay Sally face. You’re safe. It was just a dream, it’s okay. I’m here, you’re safe. You’re okay. _ ” 

Another sob, before Sal curls in on himself, pressing his mask hard into his knees. He’s drenched in sweat, panting and choking on his own weeping and gasps as he tries and fails to collect himself. His nails dig hard into his skin in a desperate attempt to ground himself, drawing angry red lines along his forearms that bead up with blood and cake under blunt nails. A bad habit. A lack of self awareness. 

“ _ You’re okay, baby blue, it’s okay.” _ The journal is nudged against Sal’s legs to get his attention before the feeling of cold arms envelops him so intensely, so strongly that his hands pause in their motions. The cold is grounding, refreshing and distracting as Sal extracts his face from his knees and stares down at the page. His brain seems to short circuit as he reads over the last sentence again and again, almost thinking he imagined the words. 

_ Baby blue _ . It felt so gentle, so  _ affectionate.  _ It catches Sal so off guard it distracts him from his panic, causes his gasps to stutter. Sal takes one, two, three shaky breaths as he grounds himself in that sentence, in Larry’s arms. He’s amazed to find he’s calmed down faster than he thinks he has in years. His tears dwindle, his breathing evens out, his shaking subsides until he’s exhaling soft and steady against the cold pressure that is Larry’s chest. The ghost is still holding him so close, so tight that it hurts Sal to pull away even to just mop up the tears caught under his mask.

As uncomfortable as it could be, Sal had taken to wearing it to bed after he learned that Larry also occupied the small apartment. While he didn’t distrust the ghost, it felt… Unnatural, to be seen without it. Especially by someone Sal didn’t know well. Someone he had never seen the face of, either. Sal wouldn’t doubt Larry had seen his true face that first night, before the spirit introduced himself, but he preferred to just… Ignore that fact, for now.  Larry seemed to respect Sal’s privacy and preferences, and Sal wasn’t going to do anything to change that unless it was necessary. 

“Thank you, Lar,” Sal says softly, embarrassment starting to seep into his voice as he draws away from the others embrace. A bittersweet laugh leaves Sal’s throat as he watches Larry’s question quickly scrawl itself into his latest journal; “ _ Do you wanna talk about it? _ ” 

.  “I-it’s… It wasn’t anything new,” he sighs softly, shaking his head. “I’m used to the nightmares, I’m sorry you had to see that.” 

“ _ Nothing to apologize for,” _ the journal says in return, “ _ You don’t have to share but you can if you want to. _ ” 

“I-it.. I guess it was a little different, this time-” Sal starts, letting out a shaky breath as he runs sticky fingers through his hair. He cringes when he realizes he was still bleeding, though it was slowing, congealing. A pout is passed down at the scratches, though Sal’s attention is drawn to the shifting against his side, the light that suddenly turns on in the bathroom. There’s a good deal of rustling, before he watches his own first aid kit suddenly float its way back over to the bed. It dips so close to Sal’s side that he can feel Larry pressed against him, the first aid kit placed in the blankets in front of the pair. 

Sal makes a move to grab the kit, only to find it jerked out of reach in a silent request; _ Let me do this for you. Let me take care of you _ . Without a word the shorter of the pair relents and shows his scratched arms as a peace offering to the other. A show of trust.  

“It… Usually starts in the hospital, but this time it was in the park, before it all happened. Everything kept… Melting together. It was messy.” Sal’s eyebrows are furrowed in concentration as he retells the nightmare, all while watching Larry slowly dab antiseptic wipes over his cuts. It burns, enough so that Sal hisses through his teeth every now and then. It brings Larry to pause, to wait for Sal to nod that he was okay before the spirit continued cleaning Sal up. An easy, silent back and forth. 

Larry didn’t say anything as Sal retold his nightmare from the beginning. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t comment on anything, didn’t say a word. He just quietly patched Sal’s arms up, cleaning the scratches before applying band-aids and gauze as needed. Even after, he was patient as Sal spoke. Larry kept a protective arm around the smaller boy’s shaking shoulders as he listened. 

“I-I didn’t… Watch her die this time, but… I watched her rot,” Sal whispers, staring vacantly down at his hands resting in his lap. They don’t really even register as his own. He can still see the blood in the creases of his palms, caked under his finger nails from his dream like an overlay, barely there but present enough to send a chill down his spine. Larry rubs his back when he feels the shudder pass through Sal’s small frame. 

“I fell into the grave after that, woke up before I could really fall far though,” he continues, a mirthless laugh on his words. “At least the more painful parts were skipped, I have that…” Sal sounds almost defeated as he slumps back against his pillows, against Larry’s arm. He stares out the windows above his bed, up towards what sky is visible through the trees lining his street. It was clear tonight, though the light pollution of the nearby city made the stars dimmer. It was another thing he missed about Nockfell. Out in the quiet places, by wendigo lake or the surrounding woods, you could see the milky way so easily. The stars and fog of the universe descended over the sky like a blanket come nightfall. Sal often found himself getting lost in counting each star, each planet, each constellation. 

Finally, Larry shifts enough to grab the notebook and begin to write. 

“ _ So, is it more like flashbacks? _ ” He questions, letting the journal sit between them as he writes so that Sal can see the page. 

“Kind of. They’re pretty warped, and some of it isn’t right or never happened.” 

“ _ What happened? What was real? _ ” 

Ah, the question Sal had been waiting for. He kept his dream-retelling somewhat vague, leaving out the worst of the details and skimming through what happened. Admittedly, it felt good to talk about. Far better than Sal ever thought it would feel, like a weight was finally lifted off his shoulders and relocated to the pit of his stomach. He felt lighter in some ways, while heavy in others; An uncomfortable push/pull that left him conflicted in answering Larry’s question. 

A leap of faith. A risk. A trust fall. Sal inhaled slowly as he leaned his head against the other boy’s shoulder, eyes falling shut. 

“It’s why I wear the mask,” Sal breathes out, voice trembling once more. “I… When I was younger, I was attacked by a dog… I was lucky to have lived.” He swallows thick, glancing up towards where Sal thinks Larry’s face is. An attempt at eye contact, at connection, at  _ something _ . Sal’s chest lurches at the same moment Larry’s hand squeezes his shoulder, and he thinks he’s found his gaze even if he can’t see it. He can  _ feel _ it. 

“My mom didn’t make it. My face didn’t really make it, either,” Another heartless laugh, hollow in Sal’s chest. His inhale shakes, his eyes water. He swallows thick around the knot in his throat as he shakes his head, finally looking back out the window towards the sky. 

“It… Never really got better, after that.” Sal doesn’t try to elaborate, and Larry doesn’t try to question it. Instead, Sal receives another gentle squeeze from the spirit before he feels Larry start to pull away from him. 

Sal thinks he may have been reaching towards the journal, no doubt planning on finding something to distract the smaller boy with, but Sal doesn’t care. His hands reach out, fumbling awkwardly through the air until he meets something more solid. Larry’s chest, maybe? A shoulder? Sal twists his fingers in invisible cloth, clutching at the taller boy’s shirt to keep him from drawing away. 

“C-can… You stay?” he asks, a bit breathless. Vulnerable. Sal didn’t think Larry would  _ leave  _ leave, the ghost seemed way too nice to do that, but not being able to see the other man definitely made it feel like he was going to leave entirely. There’s an awkward few moments of silence and stillness between the two, neither of them moving as Sal’s question hangs heavy in the air between them. 

Finally, Larry’s arm goes to wrap back around Sal’s shoulders. His small frame is tugged against the ghost’s chest, protective and comforting. It made him feel small, but also safe, like the nightmares, the memories, that Sal himself couldn’t hurt him if Larry was there. He smiles behind his mask as he slowly relaxes into the others lanky frame. 

“Thank you,” Sal says into the quiet, voice so small Larry nearly misses it. He gives Sal a gentle squeeze in return before he reaches for the journal and tugs it into his own lap, all without letting go of the smaller boy. Larry makes sure the journal is visible when he begins to write. 

“ _ Always, baby blue. Wanna lay down? _ ” 

“Please,” Sal says despite the jolt that goes through his stomach. There was that nickname again. His chest seems to erupt into butterflies as he reads it over and wonders what it might sound like in Larry’s voice. Curiosity overtakes Sal as he thinks of what the other man is really like, the parts of Larry he can’t experience. Not yet. 

“You should really draw yourself for me,” he hums softly, voice thickening with sleep as the anxiety slowly ebs out of his system. There’s a pause from Larry, a long lapse of pen pressed to paper but not moving that Sal has come to associate with surprise in the other boy. 

Eventually, Larry seems to come back to his senses. His writing is a bit sloppier, a bit shakier with nerves, but Sal grins wide behind his mask at the response he gets. 

“ _ Okay. For you. _ ” 

Neither one says anything after that. Sal settles himself comfortably against Larry’s chest, the other man propped up as he turns to a clean page in the journal and slowly begins to sketch. It’s like magic for Sal to slowly watch the portrait appear before him. 

It’s not what Sal expected. It’s rough, given all Larry had in the moment was a ballpoint pen. The shadows and lines are harsh; Larry looks exhausted in his portrait, a bit rumpled and scraggly. He’s thin. He’s stoic. He’s got deep circles under his eyes and unkempt long hair. He has a mole under his eye, and a nose like a beak. He’s beautiful, and Sal is smitten to a degree even he is forced to acknowledge, at least to himself. 

After a while of fussing over the portrait, Sal feels Larry heave a sigh and sign it with a simple “ _ L. Johnson” _ . The blue haired boy is grinning wide under his mask as he reaches forward to grab the journal. Larry relinquishes it easily, a bit nervous as he watches Sal examine the piece closely. 

“This… I didn’t expect you to look like this,” Sal says, though there’s a smile evident in his voice as he speaks. “Y-you… You’re real pretty, Lar.” His ears are pink, and Larry’s throat seems to knot up. Pretty? Sal Fisher thought he was  _ pretty _ ? 

Larry gives Sal’s shoulder a squeeze in thanks, not having the heart to drag the journal away from the other boy. He was staring at it so intensely… It made Larry more flustered than he thought he would be. It gave him a sickening sense of hope, that maybe Sal liked Larry even a little bit. Saw something worthy in a half-assed pen drawing. Saw something worthy in the boy in the portrait.  

The talking fades after that. Sal settles down against Larry once more, cheek smooshed against the taller man’s chest as he tries to melt into the other’s cold body. He stares at the portrait for a while longer, admiring it until his eyelids are too heavy to hold themselves up. Larry has no problems with the other boy sleeping on him, as knot-knuckled fingers run through Sal’s hair. He has no intention of moving any time soon, though the idea of surprising Sal with breakfast after such a rough night might be something for later that morning. 

For now, Larry lets the smaller boy sleep, counting his breaths and doodling aimlessly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL THAT SURE WAS A TIME. The songs referenced in this chapter were Talk To Me - Cavetown (chapter title) and then Happy - Mother Mother (chapter description)  
> My life and inspiration heavily revolves around music, so even if I don't consider this a "song fic" there's at least one song that probably influenced or inspired that chapter. I have a personal playlist of music that influenced and inspired this fic that I may or may not end up sharing at some point as well! I'll see how I feel about it as the fic continues.  
> As always, thank you so so much if you take the time to leave a comment or kudos. It means the world to me, and I love you all so, so much.


	4. YOU GOT A SMILE THAT COULD LIGHT THIS TOWN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You got a smile that could light this town, and we might need it  
> 'Cause it gets dark around here, real dark around here  
> ______________________  
> A machine is broken, and a friend is found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some more liberties with gear boy functioning and what-not here... I TOTALLY know what im doing okay.......  
> I'm also sorry for how long this chapter took to get out. I'm starting to regret putting a plotline into this given how much of a rut I've gotten into with this fic. For some reason the plot is making it harder to work on than if it was just mindless fluff? I thought if anything plot would HELP but oh well, I'm still forcing through for the time being even if its taking longer than I want. I'm not really happy with this chapter, but I didn't abandon this and thats what matters to me in the end.  
> So just. Take it. Take my trash. As always Ratty loves ya. Enjoy. Ill try and be faster next time.

He was anxious. It felt pretty ridiculous to be, but Larry still  _ was _ . They had received the call from Todd only an hour before, stating he had whipped up something at least semi-functional for the trio to try and that he would be over soon. He seemed hopeful that it would help Larry, or that it would make him at least manifest for the time being. Which was incredible! But it was also very, very stressful, because he would be  _ visible _ . Larry hadn’t been able to sit still for more than two minutes since Todd had hung up, and Sal seemed about ready to tie a bell to the ghost just so that Larry’s pacing wouldn’t startle him as much as it was, even if it was unintentional. 

Sal tried to reassure the ghost all the same, however. He was anxious himself. Ever since the nightmare, and Larry comforting him… Sal had tried to ignore the weird tightness in his chest around Larry. The lump forming in his throat, the trembling tickle in his stomach, the hand shakes and blushes that were just barely concealed by his mask. So maybe Sal  _ liked _ Larry. So what if he was anxious to finally meet him, face to face? To hear his voice, to see the way he moved about the space, to see him just  _ exist  _ next to him? It was anxiety inducing for both of them, and Larry was still anxious about Sal seeing him exist for the very same reasons, even if Sal had done his best to reassure the ghost that it would be fine. 

This could  _ work  _ though, and that’s what had Larry so jittery as he paced around the studio. He hadn’t been able to sit still for more than a few minutes since the news came this morning. Sal had done his best to try and distract Larry, keep him occupied for a while, but it was to no avail. No amount of cooking together, movie watching, or attempts at drawing seemed to do the trick. 

At this point, Larry had become all-consumed with the way he looked. He made his way  into the bathroom for what had to have been the sixth time at least that morning, all to simply fuss over his appearance. He stares himself down in the mirror, stomach clenching at the sight. If this worked, he would be visible again and,  _ wow, _ had he always looked this… Dead? Because he really looked dead. Extra dead. Did you age in the afterlife? Larry tells himself that  _ yes, you do, _ if only to make himself feel better for how neglectful he had become of himself in death.

His appearance hadn’t been a problem when he had first died; He had no intentions to haunt or scare any tenants in 403, and as of ten years ago it hadn’t even mattered what he looked like since the living couldn’t see him anyways. He was far from the most gruesome spirit in the complex too, and no other spirits had bat an eye at the way he looked. His appearance and physical upkeep had become a miniscule thing trapped at the back of his mind after death, and he never thought he would start caring again. 

But now? Now, Sal might see him. Sal Fisher, problem number one, the root of all his stomach-clenching distress was very possibly going to see Larry Johnson today. As Larry stared himself down in the bathroom mirror, he could only consider just how horrible that would end, given his current state. The veins that stood near-black against a greyish skin tone seemed as off-putting as it was question-provoking, and Larry isn’t sure which response would be worse. His hair was still kind of ratty and matted despite how furiously or how many times he runs his fingers or Sal’s comb through it, and he would guess there’s nothing he could do about how milky his eyes were now. Larry was gaunt, gangly, more corpse than human in appearance. He turns the sink on for the ump-teenth time this afternoon, planning on trying to wash his face again despite not knowing what good it would do, and is immediately met with a muffled but distressed groan from Sal. 

“Larry, I swear to god if you wrack up my water bill I’ll find a way to kill you  _ again _ ,” Sal laments from under a large mass of comforters. He isn’t visible, the fluffy down duvet tugged all the way over his head as the blue haired boy burrows into the depths of his bed. Larry had watched him tug an old laptop under the blankets with him into his new nest a number of hours ago now, after having given up on distracting Larry. He hated just how endearing it was, how endearing Sal was when he burrowed like that even if it was just to hide his face. His mask lay against the edge of the mattress, staring vacantly at the ceiling. 

Larry really wishes he could snark back to that. He has a whole number of horrible, punny responses on the tip of his tongue, and the most he can really do is make a face to himself in the mirror given his journal is still on the kitchen table. The only positive thing he was looking forward to when it came to being visible again was being able to talk. It had been so long since he last spoke. What did his voice even sound like again…? It had been so long since he spoke out loud, he had forgotten the sound. He supposed it would be a surprise for himself as well as Sal if Todd’s new experiment worked today. 

With a sigh, Larry shut off the sink. There was little that could be done at this point in regards to just… Scrubbing his face. He needed something more… Intense. Thoroughly. Larry passes a hesitant glance towards the shower, before turning it towards the lump of blankets that makes Sal. Maybe that would help…? His hair might at least look… Better. Less ratty, if he could wash it. He isn’t sure if he has much of any scent anymore, but he supposes some of Sal’s floral body wash wouldn’t do much harm either. Could anyone blame him for wanting to clean up? 

Much to Sal’s dismay and protest, the shower turns on with a groan from the pipes and the loud hiss of water almost immediately following the sink turning off. Sal didn’t think ghosts could even shower in the first place. At least, not to a degree that would really matter or make a difference. If movies had taught Sal anything growing up, it was that you probably stayed in the same state you died in, so he can’t seem to wrap his head around why Larry would bother with trying to clean up. Had his death been that gruesome?

With an exasperated groan, the shorter boy drags himself out of his heap of blankets towards the bathroom, putting his mask on as he does. 

“Larry, dude… What are you doing,” Sal says as he pulls back the shower curtain. He stares into the stream, arms crossed as he stands in front of the running shower. He can just barely make out the shape of the other, taking in the way the water falls around and drips off of the invisible form of Larry. There’s suds mixed in with the water, outlining Larry’s long hair and clinging to his figure. Sal is thoroughly unimpressed with the display, shaking his head as he stares through the other. He could only guess this was some kind of pre-manifestation jitters, given Larry had never seemed this restless in the past, and despite his irritation there’s still a twinge of pity there. It was almost endearing that he was so nervous about possibly being seen, but it didn’t need to be at the expense of Sal’s water bill in his opinion.  

“C’mon, it’s gonna be fine you big baby,” Sal chides softly as he rolls up his sleeves and reaches into the shower, grappling awkwardly at a soggy Larry. The ghost struggles weakly against Sal, unsure what to do about the situation given his indignant squawks and complaints about the shorter boy’s attempted man handling are going entirely unheard. He’s torn between letting Sal drag him out and remaining in the shower, if only to try and salvage his decency and also finish washing all of the suds out of his hair. He presses a palm to the cheek of Sal’s mask in an attempt to push him away. It’s a futile effort, because it only makes Sal double his own attempts to get Larry out of the shower. 

“Larry, dude, Todd is going to be here any second-” Sal is half under the shower stream, no thanks to Larry and his struggling, when his words are cut off by the sound of knocking at the apartment door. The pair freezes at that, a new wave of anxiety washing over Larry when he realizes _ oh god, speak of the devil _ . Sal shoots the ghost a warning glance as, slowly, he lets go of Larry and withdraws himself from the shower. He doesn’t remove the hand he has wrapped tight around the ghosts wrist, however, as he steps over the rim of the tub and back onto the bath mat.  

“Be there in a sec!” Sal calls over his shoulder, before he gently tries to tug Larry onto the bathmat. The shower is turned off with a squeak as the taller of the two relents. He’s wrapped in a large, fluffy blue towel before Larry lets Sal lead him out of the bathroom. Sal has his own towel to match, though they don’t stop the soggy footprints that follow Sal to the front door though, nor the soft sound of dripping coming from both of them as they go to let Todd in. 

Larry is beginning to regret his decision to try showering more and more as time passes. He stands in front of the door, soggy and probably looking even worse than before, practically trembling from nerves. His hands wring the ends of the towel as he watches Sal go to unlock the door and reveal his friend on the other side. 

“Hey Todd,” Sal greets as he opens the door, choosing to ignore the fact that he’s drenched, as well as the large growing puddle immediately next to him. Todd stares between his friend and the floating towel next to Sal, eyebrow arched in unimpressed curiosity. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says in a monotone yet teasing voice. “I can always come back later if you want-” 

“Just get in here,” Sal says, shaking his soggy head with a dry laugh. Todd smirks before he follows Sal inside of the apartment, still passing Larry’s growing puddle and towel sidelong glances as he does. The shorter of the two goes to change out of his large, soaked tee-shirt and into a black crew neck as Todd closes the apartment door behind him. Larry awkwardly shuffles to the kitchen doorway after he grabs his journal, water still pooling under him on the hardwood floors. There’s a nervous tension filling the apartment like the weight of an oncoming storm as everyone settles into the space. 

“So, you said you had something that will work?” Sal questions once he’s forced his masked face through the collar of his shirt, breaking the thick silence. 

“This  _ should _ work,” Todd corrects, cutting to the chase as he drops his bag down on Sal’s bed before beginning to rummage through it. “I call it the Super Gear Boy. It’s supposed to amplify existing energy within a certain range, and the goal is that the amplification is enough to… Charge the spirits, lets say.” Todd extracts an old looking Gear Boy from his bag, though its heavily modified exterior has Sal curious as he nods along to the explanation. It seems straightforward enough when Todd explains it like that… He inches closer to stare at the device, Todd holding it up by the handles on either side for both Sal and Larry to see. 

“This won’t make anything worse, will it?” Sal asks after a few moments, concerned as he casts a glance toward Larry’s journal hovering in the kitchen doorway. “Like, it won’t make Larry just… Vanish, will it?” 

“No, it won’t make your boyfriend vanish,” Todd snarks, smirking as he drops himself down on the edge of the bed. Sal scoffs, mumbling a flustered remark about how he wasn’t dating any ghosts (much to Larry’s flustered disapproval) before Todd continues his explanation. 

“Worst comes to worst, it just… Won’t do anything. It will be like firing a blank, or maybe nothing will happen at all. I haven’t tried it yet,” he says with a shrug. He unfolds an antenna at the top of the device before he hits the power button. There’s the faintest of whirring sounds, the screen lighting up with the Gear Boy logo before it glitches and begins to simply glow an eerie green color. Sal stares down at it in amazement, before hesitantly reaching for the device. 

“You can do the honors,” Todd says, offering the Gear Boy up to the other when he sees Sal’s outstretched hand. “Just press the start button when you’re ready, that will fire it off.”  Sal gives a nod as he grasps both of the devices handles, glancing over towards Larry. 

“You ready, Lar?” Sal questions, watching as the towel and journal both slowly make their way towards Sal. Larry stops about a foot away, hesitating before he goes to write in his journal. 

This is it. It was happening, after so many years of being unable to manifest… His hand shook so much that he has to take his time in writing. His vision is swimming, he feels like he’s having an out of body experience despite not really having a body anymore. Anxiety courses through the ghost as he jots down a brief “Ready when you are,” flashing it towards Sal. Larry swallows thickly after that, watching Sal nod in response before turning his gaze back down to the Super Gear Boy. There’s a pregnant silence in the apartment as Sal hesitates, breath caught in his throat as his finger hovers over the start button. There was… Maybe no turning back after this, granted it worked. God, Sal hoped it worked… Both of them squeeze their eyes closed as Sal presses the menu button, anticipation heavy between them. 

The air turns electric once Sal triggers the device. It’s thick, sharp, smelling metallic and burning at the same time as it radiates out from the Super Gear Boy. Sal lets out a gasp as the device trembles in his hands, dancing with green bolts of blinding light. They burn against his skin, prickling enough that the shorter boy ends up dropping the device entirely, recoiling in surprise from the feeling. Before the super gear boy can hit the floor, there’s a blinding burst of green-white light and a loud fizzling, crackling **_bang_ ** that leaves their ears ringing. It was harsh enough that all three figures in the room are forced to look away, jumping back from the device. The light is tangible in the air, like a pressure expanding through them, past them, past the apartment and beyond into the complex. It leaves them feeling like they’re vibrating afterwards, skin and organs and breaths buzzing with life and energy as they recover from what Sal would effectively call a flash bomb that was just set off.

By the time the light subsides, the Super Gear Boy seems mostly fried. Charred, with a cracked and now black screen, the occasional bolt of green light dances over the surface. The smoke alarm is blaring loudly from the kitchen, the device giving off a harsh plume of black smoke that begins to fill the room to a stifling degree. Todd is immediately shifting to throw open the windows above Sal’s bed, hacking away from the smoke while the shorter boy goes to try and turn off the alarm. He struggles through his coughs to clamber up onto his kitchen chair to reach the device, the smoke suffocating behind his mask. 

“Holy shit Todd, is that normal? What  _ was _ that?” Sal wheezes, standing on top of a chair as he stretches to finally stop the smoke detector. He pauses in his motions, however, when the only response Sal gets from Todd is a raspy, startled “ _ Holyshit” _ . Sal turns, eyes wide behind his mask as he takes in the third figure now standing in the middle of his apartment. 

He was taller than Sal had anticipated. He had some impression of how tall Larry was from their interactions, but it was more surprising to actually  _ see _ the height difference in full view. He had a pretty solid impression of what he thought Larry looked like otherwise though, thanks to the portrait the ghost had drawn, but it hadn’t prepared Sal for the real deal. 

Slowly, Sal steps down from the kitchen chair and paces his way out towards Larry’s figure, looking startled and surprised as his eyes followed Sal. He was still a bit damp from his attempt at a shower, the iridescence of soap still present in Larry’s hair, but Sal could barely find it in himself to care. His neck cranes somewhat as he stares up at the ghost, eyes tracing over his face in unabashed curiosity. 

The portrait Larry had drawn was accurate, but there were so many details that Sal hadn’t noticed before, or that had been left out. The sleepy droop of his eyelids was so much more gentle in person, the mole next to his eye a new addition that the shorter hadn’t realized was there before. The way his nose bent just slightly to the right like it was broken and never healed correctly, but was still as comically big as Larry had drawn it. The black veins and fogged eyes were new, left out of Larry’s drawing, giving Sal the impression the portrait had been of when Larry was still alive. It makes Sal’s heart clench, questions of what happened to Larry running through his mind as he takes in the pallor and the sunkenness of his face. Larry’s lips pouted just slightly, his jaw was covered in patchy scruff, jawline sharp over a surprisingly slender neck. Sal watched as Larry’s adams apple bobbed, Sal’s own mirroring the movement as he swallowed thickly. 

“Hey, Sally Face,” Larry rasps out, voice softer and deeper than either would have expected. Sal’s eyes widen behind his mask when it registers, before they crinkle from the grin spreading over his cheeks. 

“Hey, Larry Face,” Sal echos back, laughing softly as he speaks. Larry joins him with his own rumbling chuckle, the pair awkwardly staring at each other as silence fills the space between them. They’re oblivious to Todd’s fiddling with the now charred looking Super Gear Boy, opting to keep out of the personal moment for the time being. 

A hand reaches up, Larry awkwardly scratching the back of his head as he finally averts his eyes in embarrassment. The faintest hints of a blush were visible on Larry’s cheeks as he begins to fold over under Sal’s intense stare. He doesn’t let up though, taking him in like it’s the first and last time Sal is ever going to see Larry. His heart is pounding in his chest, so hard that Sal is worried the ghost might be able to hear it. The only thing that draws Sal’s attention away from his friend is Todd’s voice, Sal’s head snapping towards the other in surprise when he speaks. 

“Well, I expected this,” the redhead says as he removes the back on the Super Gear Boy, begins to root about in its insides. He seems oblivious to the moment happening between Sal and Larry- Or was he just choosing to ignore it? Regardless, Sal takes an awkward shuffle away from Larry, thankful for his prosthetic hiding the flush on his cheeks as he focuses on what Todd is doing instead. Try and calm his beating heart, the head in his face, the way his hands tremble. 

Larry was… Hot. Hotter than Sal anticipated, despite having seen the portrait Larry did. Pen on paper was very different from the figure before him, and Sal is a bit disappointed at just how much his stomach is flipping at the sight of the other. 

“Expected what?” He asks, peering down at the Super Gear Boy in the redheads lap. 

“It fried,” Todd elaborates, flashing the charred remains to the pair. Sal was hyper aware of Larry’s presence now looming over his shoulder, trying to catch his own look at the device. “It… It let off something so powerful it just blew the whole system. Which is good, because it means it _ definitely _ worked, but also bad because now I’ll need to start over from scratch with something new.” 

“Wasn’t this the point in making that, though? Why would you need to start over?” Larry questions, the deep warble of his voice still a startling presence in the room. His voice almost sounds drowned, bubbling from his chest in a thick kind of way that Sal had never heard before now. It seemed unnatural, even for a ghost. It only makes Sal more curious about the state the ghost has found himself stuck in, but he refrains from asking just yet. It was personal, and they had only just met face to face. Sal is sure he’ll learn in time.

“For the moment, it’s worked,” Todd hums as he closes the Super Gear Boy back up. “That doesn’t mean that the charge I gave you will last, though… We still need to get to the bottom of whatever is sucking up your energy in the first place.” 

“Now that I can manifest, I can scope out the building. Ask around,” Larry offers with a shrug. Todd nods in response and agreement as he goes to stuff the Super Gear Boy back into his bag. 

“That’ll be good. Keep me posted on anything you find out,” Todd says back as he moves to stand from the bed. Sal shifts away at that, giving Todd space to stand and throw his bag back on.  

“I can always research the building too, see if there’s any history here that might play in,” Sal offers, trailing after his friend as Todd slowly makes his way towards the door to the apartment. Taking his leave now that his job was done. He flashes Sal an appreciative smile and a pat on the shoulder. 

“Good. Let me know the instant you find anything new out, okay?” The pair nod to the redhead as he goes to open the door, Todd pausing in the doorway to stare between the two. “Something weird is going on here… I’m sure of that much,” he says, ominous as ever. It sends a harsh chill down Sal’s spine to hear, though he forces it down as Todd begins to bid the pair goodbye. Larry, eager as ever, stops Todd half-way through his goodbye with a barely restrained grin. 

“Can I walk you to the elevator?” 

There’s a heavy silence for one, two, three seconds after Larry asks before it shatters all together and leaves all three figures laughing softly. Todd nods, grinning, while Sal follows both Todd and Larry out of the front door. 

Larry seems to be in awe of the shoddy apartment hallway as, slowly as ever, the trio walk to the elevator at the end of the hall. Larry seems to enjoy taking in the ugly wallpaper, the stained carpet, the faded lettering on the signs and plagues throughout the hallway as they go. 

“I’ll see what I can dig up,” Todd repeats once more as they all wait for the elevator to make its slow ascent up to their floor. Sal nods, clapping Todd on the back. 

“Me too,” he replies as the doors creak open. Todd shuffles his way inside, giving a wave and a reassurance that they’ll get everything figured out as the doors close once more and Sal and Larry are left standing alone in the hallway. 

There’s a pause as Sal turns to look up at Larry, eyes squinted in consideration for a few moments. He’s still grinning as he takes in the hallway, his first taste of freedom in a decade. Sal makes a mental note to find something for the both of them to do outside of the house soon, especially if it meant Sal got to see more of that smile. His eyes widen slightly when he realizes that Larry has a gap between his two front teeth, a relatively considerable one at that. Sal’s heart flutters at the sight, pink tinting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Sal reaches out to grab the hem of Larry’s shirt and begin to tug the taller figure back towards his apartment after a few more moments of staring.   
“Want to go watch some movies with me?”   
“I’d love to, Sally face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song referenced is The Weekend by Modern Baseball!  
> Back to struggling with Todd, I guess? Hooray though, we finally /see/ Larry! Poor Sal. Poor baby. So flustered. So bi.  
> As always a huge thank you to everyone who leaves kudos and comments <3 I go back and read them all the time when I need motivation to work on things, or a pick me up. It's helping me a lot right now. So thank you! I'm gonna try and crack down a lot more on updating this regularly.

**Author's Note:**

> u made it  
> im so proud of u  
> stay tuned for me slowly relearning how to fuccin write or somethin  
> maybe one day ill post my social media


End file.
